A few weeks ago I arrived at a meeting 15 minutes early. By the time my host arrived, a few minutes after the time our table was booked for, I was half way through a cup of coffee. “It looks like you’ve been here a while,” he said, frowning. “Yes,” I explained apologetically. “I suffer from chronic punctuality. It’s been a problem for years.” “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he said.
But my friend, who admitted he doesn’t worry if he’s running a few minutes behind, didn’t understand what I have been through; the hours and days and weeks someone like me has wasted circling blocks, hunting for benches to perch on, standing awkwardly on street corners, looking for places to just hang around – all while waiting for other people to show up.
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